


A Perfectly Average Transfer

by Eleanor Green (eldestmuse)



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, Wings over Igen
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldestmuse/pseuds/Eleanor%20Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brownrider G'rel requests a transfer into bronzerider L'zen's wing.</p><p>Includes G'rel and L'zen of Ista Weyr. Mentions M'ila, Y'val and C'bel of Ista Weyr.<br/>Morning on month 4, day 1, turn 753.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfectly Average Transfer

The Weyrbred weren't supposed to let filial bonds impact their lives. They were supposed to be above that kind of thing, and by extension so were the hold- and craft-bred who came to live among them after a Search, whether it led to Impression or not. A bit of nepotism always crept in here and there, though: a wingleader whose wingsecond happened to be a brother he was close to; a headwoman whose favored assistant was also her daughter; a Weyrleader whose sons always seemed to have the most skilled dragonriders transferred into their wings.

Fostering was supposed to reduce that kind of thing, but the Holds fostered their scions too, and look how that usually turned out. G'rel couldn't remember the last time a Holder had been confirmed by the Conclave who had been outside the direct line of consanguinity with the previous Lord Holder. He was young still, of course, but he was certain it was rare.

The only good thing about it was that he was a lucky young man; his sire happened to be the Weyrleader. He might not like nepotism in the Weyr, but at least he didn't usually suffer a negative impact from it. Of course, as a brownrider, his potential for advancement was limited, but he was sure his sire had already picked out which Wingleader he would serve as Wingsecond for. He'd be ripe for it when the Pass started.

Yes, Y'val probably had it all figured out. The man was a skilled schemer and a frighteningly good planner, which had served him well in his many turns as Weyrleader.

What G'rel didn't think he'd planned for was his son to request a transfer to bronzerider L'zen's wing. L'zen was a solid Wingleader hampered only by his lack of a blood relation to the Weyrleader, two traits which had conspired to get him selected to accompany goldrider M'ira to repopulate Igen in preparation for the coming Pass. G'rel was determined to join her as well. He remained convinced she needed him, no matter how off-putting her behavior.

He wasn't supposed to know they were leaving, of course. Not yet. He was a young brownrider, with no official place in the Weyr hierarchy beyond that of 'dragonrider.' The official word hadn't yet been disseminated, so he had time to wrangle his assignment before the jockeying for position -- to stay, to go -- got intense.

"Ask Pirreth if L'zen has a moment to speak with me," he told his dragon. "We can go to his weyr or he can come here, but I'd like a moment in private."

Rintoth, as steady and obedient as ever, answered promptly. _He asks if it's urgent._

"It can keep if he's busy, but I'd prefer sooner rather than later."

_He says to bring a basket of bread from the kitchens and we are to meet him at their weyr._

It was a task beneath his duty as a brownrider, the kind of thing a weyrling might be ordered to do, but G'rel didn't mind. L'zen didn't have a reputation for being petty and Ista didn't have Benden's advantages of construction; there were no dumbwaiters between the bronzes' weyrs and the lower caverns, and the drudges couldn't get anywhere but the goldriders' weyrs to serve food or clean. The dragonriders had more privacy than anyone else on Pern, but the price for that was usually the need to run their own errands.

Weyrlings with dragons still strengthening their wings benefited from the exercise of delivering things from weyrs to the lower caverns, but the current class was too young for the duty, the last class had graduated, and the next class wasn't due to hatch for another sevenday or so.

If running the errand meant he'd get an earlier audience with L'zen, then his sharding dignity would just have to suffer.

He put Rintoth's riding straps on with the ease of practice then, with the assistance of a helpfully-outstretched leg, hauled himself up onto his dragon's back. The brown -- perfectly average in size and tone -- launched himself from the ledge of his weyr and toward the entrance of the lower caverns. He landed easily in the Weyr bowl and G'rel jumped down from his back. Unlike his dragon, he landed heavily and felt the jolt through the thick soles of his boots, but he wanted to hurry so he ignored the slight pain in his ankle as he made his way toward the kitchen.

He had no idea how L'zen had known, but there was a batch of fresh bread baking in the ovens, and when he invoked the Wingleader's name he managed to cage one hot from the oven from the cooks. He carried his bundle discretely in a clean rag and rushed out to where Rintoth waited.

The dragon launched himself into the air with his powerful hindquarters and made for L'zen's weyr. Pirreth made room for him on the ledge and as Rintoth landed, G'rel was glad he wasn't one of the bigger browns. The ancients had built big, but they hadn't intended there be two dragons on this ledge. Still, he couldn't blame Pirreth for not moving inside; it was a lovely afternoon and it was, after all, his weyr.

As soon as G'rel got off -- much more carefully this time -- Rintoth jumped off the ledge and flew up to the heights. _I will sun myself here so that I am not in Pirreth's way,_ he told his rider.

It was a statement that needed no response, so he didn't give one. Instead, he unwrapped the bread and called out for the Wingleader. "I have your bread, sir."

"Bring it back here to the table." The faint echo indicated that the weyr was a cavernous one, as befitted a bronze.

G'rel walked back, around the empty dragon's couch, and into a large room filled with a variety of furniture. It was dominated by a stone table long enough to feed a holder's family and had a surprisingly smooth floor. The table was covered from end to end in hides, except one small sliver of the middle that looked like it had been recently uncovered; unlike the rest of the table, there was no dust. There, L'zen sat sipping at a goblet of what smelled like Tillek white.

"Sit there," L'zen said, pointing to the equally stone chair across from him. "You can put the bread in the middle. Pour yourself some wine if you want but I can't see why you would; it's awful." He sighed.

Obediently, G'rel pulled out the chair and sat down. It was, like all stone furniture, cold and not very comfortable, but he wasn’t there for pleasure. He waited until L'zen broke off a piece of bread for himself, then mimicked the gesture.

"So! You wanted to meet with me; I'm not your wingleader, so I can't imagine why. I'm busy, but you brought me bread and saved me and Pirreth a trip, so I figure I can spare that long. Talk!"

Rumor hadn't warned him L'zen's abruptness, so G'rel was caught by surprise by the order. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He swallowed and tried again. "I'd like you to be. My wingleader, that is. I want to transfer into your wing."

L'zen frowned and tilted his head in that particular way that meant a man was talking to his dragon. This time, the man was talking to his dragon about _him_.

G'rel tried not to fidget and probably failed.

"Everything I know about you says you're average, brownrider G'rel. Average performance in the Games, average height, average weight. Your dragon is even a perfectly average shade of brown. Why should I deal with the headache of integrating a new rider into my wing?"

"I've worked very hard to seem average. Just like you've worked very hard to seem like you don't have very much ambition."

L'zen's eyebrows flew up. "Have I?"

"I've lived in this Weyr my whole life, and I'm observant," G'rel said. He didn't like the idea of putting himself out there like this, but if there was any time to, this was it. "I like the idea of a transfer." G'rel said. What he knew about Igen couldn't be said aloud -- and he had to be careful not to think about it too hard, lest his dragon find out and gossip about it. "I can be an asset to your wing, and I want to be there."

Now the bronzerider's eyes narrowed. "I see," he said. "Have you spoken to your wingleader about this?"

G'rel shook his head. "That would have been presumptuous."

L'zen nodded. "Yes. It would have. I'll have Pirreth bespeak Ovialth. We'll talk. In the meantime, stay out of trouble. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut."

G'rel grinned. "Always!"

**Author's Note:**

> G'rel, wingrider on brown Rintoth at Ista Weyr


End file.
